I Show Not Your Face
by bitterending
Summary: [DH SPOILERS][incest] It's been eighteen months since the end of the war, and since then, George has only wanted one thing.


Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling

Author's Note: This story was written shortly after reading the seventh book, which I finished over two weeks ago and am still crying about. This plotbunny bit me almost immediately after finishing chapter 31, and I was forced to write it. It's hard to think straight when I have an unwritten plotbunny in my head. Anyway, I don't really like it much, because it's depressing, not to mention I'm never a fan of my own endings, but whatever. I put it up here, anyway. Enjoy if you can.

The mirror of Erised. George remembered Harry and Ron telling him about this thing while he and Fred were in their third year at school. He also remembered them talking about how dangerous it could be, but right now, George didn't care. He didn't search for this thing for the past eighteen months just to turn back now. He just wanted to see his brother again.

When George stepped in front of the mirror, he gasped. Even though he knew the true nature of the mirror, he still had to fight the impulse to spin around when he saw Fred Weasley standing beside him. The realization, however, set in all too quickly, and he sighed as he felt his heart steady disappointedly in his chest.

"Fred…" The Fred in the mirror smiled and waved, blurring slightly around the edges as George's eyes filled with tears. This was not a smart idea. This only succeeded in making the pain worse. "Fred—" George's voice caught in his throat as his shoulders began to tremble. He leaned his forehead against the cold glass as he felt hot trails of tears slide down his cheeks. "I can't do this without you…Please, Fred…" He felt a lump gather painfully in his throat and clapped a hand over his mouth in an effort to stifle it. "Please come back…" he gagged helplessly. He looked up when he noticed a slight movement in the mirror, feeling his heart begin to race again when he clearly saw the reflection.

Fred had turned his attention to the George standing in the mirror, kissing gently from the shell of his ear to his collarbone, pulling him close until George's reflection was standing directly in front of him, his hands wrapped protectively around George's waist. Mesmerized, George watched, unmoving, as his reflection was ravished by his twin. His hands ached to touch the arms around his chest, but he knew that if he were to do so, the illusion would be broken. As long as he stood still, he could almost feel Fred's mouth and hands against his skin.

The Fred in the mirror suddenly grabbed George's wrist and tugged his hand down until it was pressed against the front of his own pants. It took George a moment to comprehend that he had followed his reflection's lead, his fingers fumbling slightly with the button of his jeans before dipping his hands past his boxers. Without realizing what he was doing, he began to stroke himself, quickening his pace as he watched Fred bite affectionately at his neck, one of his hands skating teasingly under George's shirt.

A sickeningly pleasurable chill shot down George's spine and he fell guiltily to his knees, his hand still working himself as he continued to watch Fred lick gently at his pulse point. George was panting, his eyes sliding in and out of focus, but never straying from the show in front of him. Sweat was slicking the hair at his nape and forehead. He was so close. Fred was kneeling over him; his hand closed over George's, urging him to go faster, harder. If George just kept his eyes on the mirror, he could feel his brother's fingers pressed against his own.

The tension was building rapidly, and George could feel his whole body shaking with anticipation. His heart was beating at a dangerous pace and his breath was coming out in short, panicked gasps. "Now—Fred—_please!_" As if on cue, the Fred in the mirror leaned forward and bit down hard on George's shoulder.

George came so hard in his hand that he was unable to tell if there was really a pain in his shoulder or not. As he panted through the aftershocks, watching as Fred pet back his sweaty hair, he realized how hard it was going to be to leave this place. All he wanted was here in front of him. He tried to think of a reason to return home, but nothing seemed to compare to his brother. He sat staring longingly at his reflection as Fred planted kisses across George's shoulders. "Fred…"

Fred looked up quizzically, a smile pulling up at one corner of his mouth. He leaned forward, and George could feel Fred's chest against his back. His lips were against George's good ear, and if he focused hard enough he could feel Fred's breath against his face. "Don't you want me, Georgie?" George felt his heart skip a beat, but he refused to turn his head. His mind was playing tricks on him. "George, look at me…" George stared pointedly ahead at the mirror as Fred tightened his grip on George's waist, pulling him closer. George's breath caught in his throat as he felt the contact of something large and warm through his shirt.

"F—Fred…" He felt everything as if it were real, even the sensation of cotton riding slowly up his stomach. He tried frantically to keep reality in check, but it was getting to be too much, and George had to shut his eyes.

The feeling of Fred against him did not disappear with the image in the mirror. George felt his heart clench in a mixture of grief and excitement, tears sliding quickly down his cheeks. "Please…" he whispered helplessly, feeling hands pushing the shirt tenderly off his back, lips tickling feather-light at his spine.

Unable to help himself, George groped blindly for the hand felt resting against his breastbone. "Please—" he whispered under his breath, hearing his pulse thundering in his ears. When he felt fingers under his own, he could no longer hold in the sobs that crashed recklessly through his body.

The relief was strangling him. He felt as if his heart would explode in his chest if he took another breath. Without a word, George spun around and threw his arms around his brother, weeping gratefully into his neck. He felt Fred soothingly ruffling his hair and softly kissing along his tearstained jaw line. George was choking on sobs, his hands reaching up and grasping his brother's fiery hair. "You—I thought—" but suddenly, George didn't care how his brother came to be standing in front of him. All that mattered is that he was there.

Fred took hold of George's chin and forced him to look into his eyes. Torn between drinking in the reality of his brother's face and the urge to claim his mouth, George simply stared, tightening his grip in Fred's hair. Fred smiled at him and leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss in the corner of his mouth. "George…" he whispered breathlessly, against his lips. There was a brief pause as the two sat breathing the same air, and then Fred drew George's mouth back to his own.

The kiss this time was something much needier. Fred took his brother's face in his hands, pushing his tongue past George's lips to taste inside his mouth. George melted against him, one hand still twisted in Fred's hair, the other hooked around Fred's neck in an effort to steady himself. Fred pushed gently down on his chest, signaling him to lie back onto the floor.

George jumped when he felt the cold stone against his back and wondered when his shirt was pulled off of his head. He pushed away briefly to ask, but Fred ignored the effort and kissed him again, one hand rolling slowly down his chest and stopping at the waist of his pants. His fingers tickled lightly at the skin there, causing George to gasp loudly into the kiss. When he did it again, George was forced to break away, raggedly breathing in the stale air between them. Fred took little notice of this and began to form a hickey at the base of George's neck. At the feel of teeth grazing his skin, George's hand flew up to tangle back in Fred's hair.

Before George knew what was happening, Fred sat up, straddling George and holding him down. George groaned, thrusting forward on reflex. Grinning wickedly, Fred began to grind slowly into him, gradually dropping his speed. Frustrated, George snatched wildly at Fred's hips and tried to move faster, but Fred defiantly locked his waist and held tightly onto George's wrists, holding him still. "Do you want to do the honours, or should I?"

George didn't even stop to think about what he meant. "You," he gasped pleadingly, "You, please…" That seemed to be all the initiative Fred needed, because George felt his pants being suddenly tugged off, his boxers quickly following suit. He yelped at the unexpected intrusion of a cold, wet finger, but when Fred asked if he should stop, he shook his head. He felt his body heave when Fred added a second finger. "That's good—that's fine." He snapped hurriedly, "Please, just—"

Fred nodded. He tore off his pants so fast that they seemed to disappear in thin air. As he tucked himself underneath his brother, he leaned forward and whispered, "I love you, George." Before George could even think to answer, Fred drove into him, and all that came from his mouth was a heady groan. Fred's mouth was roaming his body, kissing and licking at every exposed inch of his brother. "George…" Fred kept murmuring eagerly against his skin, "_George…_"

George had never liked the sound of his name until he heard the way his brother spoke it now. It was as if after the year and a half of his absence, he couldn't say it enough. Frenzied, George took hold of Fred's hair and pulled him up to his mouth, devouring him until all the air had left his lungs. They broke apart, Fred breathing loud and heavy as he dropped his forehead to rest on George's own. "Stay with me." Fred purred softly, "Please. Please don't leave me alone again."

The thought flitted through George's mind that he wasn't the one who left, but that detail seemed absolutely meaningless. He shook his head briskly, his hands still holding Fred's face close to his own. "No. I won't leave." He whispered, "I promise." Fred smiled at him; the kind of smile they both used to have on their faces at all times. It was almost as if there had never been a war; that no one—whoever it was at this point didn't matter to George—had left.

It was McGonagall that found him, during evening patrol that night. He was slouched limply against the mirror in a far, disserted corridor of the school that she almost didn't check. She wasn't aware of how he got in, how no one saw him scour the towers for what he was so obviously seeking. At first glance he looked asleep, but when she touched his shoulder to rouse him, she found it to be stiff and cold.

When it was obviously too late to find a cure, the rest of the Weasley family looked for an answer. When no one in neither wizarding nor muggle world could explain why a perfectly healthy twenty-one year old boy would so unexpectedly stop breathing, the only answer that came was the common sense that they were twins, Fred and George Weasley. That George had followed soon after Fred to enter the world, it was only logical that he would follow shortly after to leave it, as well.


End file.
